


Signed, Sealed

by mautadite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike’s kitchen does look a little like a crime scene. There’s a gloopy white-turned-brown mess in his saucepan, broccoli on the floor, a forgotten can of tomatoes spilled across the counter, a mushy colander full of fettuccini in the sink, and plates and utensils everywhere. Nanaba crosses their arms and stares at Mike, who lifts his palms as if in defence.</p><p>“Everything escalated very quickly,” he explains.</p><p>(Date night with Mike and Nanaba.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signed, Sealed

**Author's Note:**

> I was sad and wanted to write some cute domestic Mike/Banana to cheer myself up, and thus, this. I reread a few chapters to fact check some stuff and ended up making myself even sadder, so this might have gotten extra schmoopy in order to compensate.

“I brought wine,” Nanaba says as Mike opens the door, and brandishes the bottle gently. Mike is wearing a nice shirt and slacks, and his hair is as neatly combed as it gets. He curls an arm around their waist, pulls them inside, and then sniffs the bottle through the cork.

“Peach… citrus…” He takes a stronger whiff as he kicks the door closed, still holding on to Nanaba, his fingers warm and secure near their hip. “A couple years old… good stuff.” 

“I splurged a little,” Nanaba admits, and stands on tiptoe to kiss him, letting his warmth cut through the chill that had seeped underneath their clothes. November is winding down, and winter is beginning to wrap its fingers properly around the little town. “The lady behind the counter told me that it goes really well with pasta, especially pasta alfredo.”

Mike’s moustache tickles as he trails his lips along their chin and down to their throat, kissing lightly and rubbing his nose against their skin. They smile, arching up into it before cupping his jaw and turning him back in for another, longer kiss that makes their knees wobble in the good way. 

“You need a shave, Mike, god,” they laugh, using their fingernails to scratch at the growth on his jaw and chin. 

“I thought you liked my manly stubble.”

“Stubble is lovely, but you’re getting kind of shaggy there. I don’t want to deal with beard burn.”

Mike makes a face as he eases the bottle away from Nanaba and helps them out of their coat. The hallway into his apartment is considerably tidier than it had been the last time they’d been over, two days ago. His shoes and togs have found their way into the closet where they belong, the mysterious odour of ranch dressing is gone, and there’s a bowl of potpourri on a nearby table. Nanaba smiles to think of him puttering about, cleaning up for date night.

“You love it,” Mike says once their coat is put away. He wiggles the fingers of one hand, and Nanaba slips their palm into his automatically as they walk towards the kitchen. Grabbing a flower from a vase, he tucks it behind their ear. “Anyway, I think this wine will, uh, go just as well with pizza as it would with—”

“ _Mike_ …” They tug his hand exasperatedly. In response, he pulls them closer to his side and bends a little to do that nuzzling thing that he does.

“I realise that I promised, but when you see the mess I made of my two and only pots, you’re going to be glad I ordered in instead.”

Mike’s kitchen does look a little like a crime scene. There’s a gloopy white-turned-brown mess in his saucepan, broccoli on the floor, a forgotten can of tomatoes spilled across the counter, a mushy colander full of fettuccini in the sink, and plates and utensils everywhere. Nanaba crosses their arms and stares at Mike, who lifts his palms as if in defence.

“Everything escalated very quickly,” he explains.

Trying not to smile, Nanaba pinches their boyfriend on the arm and gives him a little shove towards the cupboards.

“Come on, let’s get this cleaned up.”

“The pizza will be here any time now…”

“All the more reason to finish this quickly. I’m not going to eat in this kitchen.” They find a dishcloth and snap briskly at his ass with it. “Step on it.”

“I’m dating a cruel dictator,” Mike complains, and winks as he chucks the wine into the fridge, and gets gloves and a new scrubber from a high shelf. Nanaba rolls their eyes, even as they fight a hopeless battle not to show their amusement.

~~~

They chat as they clean up the kitchen.

“How was work?” asks Mike, nudging bits of broccoli into a dustpan. 

“Things are good.” Nanaba stares at the bottom of the pan. What had Mike been doing? The crust at the bottom is at least a half an inch think. “The temps are adjusting pretty well; I think we might end up keeping quite a few of them. Rene and I left them in the kitchens for an hour or so while we did a supply run, and they didn’t blow up or horribly burn anything. Imagine that.”

“Ah, that was a jab at me, wasn’t it?” 

Nanaba flicks some suds at him, but doesn’t pause in their story. “Gerger even let one of the girls ice a cake mostly on her own, and it turned out great.”

“That’s nice. I’m going to have to stop by again soon, say hi to everyone.”

Turning, Nanaba wrinkles their nose at him.

“All you do when you come is sneak into the back and steal tarts.”

“All you do is let me,” Mike retorts, and leans in to kiss their cheek briskly on his way to the dustbin. Nanaba giggles.

“What about that one guy, the jerk?” Mike continues, gathering up the dirty utensils. He joins Nanaba at the sink, and they set up a smooth wash-rinse-dry rhythm.

“Oh, him? Still a jerk. He majored in English before he went to culinary school, did you know, and he just can’t use a plural pronoun for one person, you know? It’s nothing personal, he just respects the English language too much. You know how the French have the _Académie Française_? English should have one just like it, and he should be the President, blah blah blah.”

“What a tool.”

“I know. I started using the royal we to refer to myself, just to mess with him, and he practically turned blue in the face.”

Mike snorts his amusement. 

“I wish I could have seen it.”

“It was pretty great,” Nanaba admits, grinning. “Especially when I used it to order him around. ‘We will require the dough to be ready in thirty minutes. Our person is suffering from a small headache; please help Rene with the rest of our muffins. We’re afraid you’ll have to wait a bit longer for your break.’”

“You’re so cute when you’re bossy.” Mike dries his hands on a towel, and tugs Nanaba closer to stand between his legs. “And kind of scary.”

“Well, this bakery business is very serious, after all,” Nanaba says, hands on Mike’s waist.

“True, true.” Mike shakes his hair out of his eyes, so that he can look clearly down at them. His eyes are a very kind, soft shade of blue-green that almost looks out of place in his scruffy face. “You’re okay though, right?”

Nanaba smiles, feeling very fond.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking. He doesn’t misgender me or anything; he just goes out of his way to not use any pronouns for me at all, because grammar or whatever.”

“Tool.”

“A big one. But I won’t have to deal with him much longer.”

“Still,” Mike says, touching their chin to tilt their eyes up to his, “tell him if he doesn’t stop being an ass, your six and a half foot tall boyfriend is going to get in his car, drive all the way over there, and lean against a wall to watch as you beat him up.”

Nanaba laughs.

“You’re sweet,” they say, leaning up for a kiss. One of Mike’s arms encircles their waist, and with the other he cups their face, running his thumb over their cheek. He’s always been very tactile, in addition to his other little quirks. From the moment Nanaba had agreed to be his kissfriend, he’s been very free with his affection, in private and in public. (Levi refuses to double date with them anymore, though Hanji still drags him along when they meet for a coffee every now and again.)

Now, he presses a map of kisses all over Nanaba’s chin and cheeks and jaw, his moustache leaving bristling caresses of its own. Nanaba leans back, sighing as he makes his way down to their throat and lavishes attention unto the pulse point fluttering there. He stays there for a while, breathing in deeply and tonguing at the skin.

“You’re sweet,” Nanaba repeats, raking their fingers through Mike’s hair, “and you’re also trying to shirk your duties. The rest of those dishes aren’t going to rinse and dry themselves.”

Mike groans, and clings to Nanaba’s hips, but they slip away nonetheless, and reach up to pat his cheek.

“Come on, lazybones.”

“So cruel.”

~~~

They finish up just as the doorbell rings. Mike collects the pizza (from their usual place; Nanaba sticks their head into the hallway to tell Historia hi) and then turns the charm up to eleven, and wheedles Nanaba into doing away with the plates and forks and eating on the couch in front of the TV instead.

“We can get a head start on the movie,” he urges, and only has to kiss Nanaba’s neck a few times before they smack his head affectionately and give in.

They insist on at least getting a tray for the wine and their cups as Mike slips the movie in and dims the lights. Mike sits in the centre of his couch, legs spread wide, and Nanaba fits neatly in between, back snug against his chest. The pizza box lies open next to them, and they use napkins as plates. Mike picks pieces of pineapple off of his slices and feeds them to Nanaba with his fingers, and they eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, eyes trained on the film.

“That reminds me,” Nanaba says, wincing in sympathy as Knifehead rips Yancy out of the jaeger, “how is Erwin?”

“Ah, I’m going to tell him that a giant lizard monster made you think of him.”

Nanaba slaps his leg.

“Answer the question. Today was his first day back, right?”

Mike rests his chin on Nanaba’s head.

“He’s doing alright. Things at the school are pretty calm; Levi was in charge while he was away on leave, so everything is moving twice as efficiently now. And you know Erwin, he won’t let a broken arm stand in his way or slow him down.”

It’s a little scary, to be honest. Who breaks an arm and comes back to work within a few days? It’s a testament to how much he cares about those kids.

“Well, I know you and Levi and Hanji will be taking care of him,” Nanaba says, reaching forward for their wine cup. “Make sure he doesn’t overdo it. Ooh, this _is_ really good. Here, taste.”

Mike finishes his slice and breathes in of the cup deeply before he lets Nanaba tilt the liquid into his mouth. He makes a satisfied sound when he swallows.

“Very nice. We should splurge more often.”

“Mhm. You’re buying next time, though. And I’m never leaving you to cook on your own again,” they add. 

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Probably not.”

They’ve both seen _Pacific Rim_ at least twice before, so they only pay attention to their favourite parts, and keep up a stream of absent chatter in between. Erwin has asked Mike to teach History to the younger classes in addition to his duties as the coach while the administration looks for a replacement, and he has a bunch of stories to tell. For one, he’s gotten at least half of his students to believe that he can smell when they haven’t done their homework.

“You’re incorrigible,” Nanaba laughs.

“I’m incontrovertible,” Mike protests.

Nanaba turns in the circle of his arms, looking up at him.

“Mike, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know. Kiss me.”

They laugh again, adjust themself so that they’re sitting on one of his thighs, and lean up to comply. 

Mike is a really good kisser; he puts all of himself into it, like it’s a really serious task that he won’t dare to fail. One of his hands affixes itself securely to the back of their neck, stroking the short strands there, and the other makes a home out of the curve of their waist, sneaking up under their shirt to beat a steady tattoo on their skin with his thumb. Nanaba cups his face with both hands, and they really do love his beard, long as it’s getting, and the way it tickles and scratches at their face and neck. His breath smells like sauce and olives, but it’s still really romantic. Every second that he doesn’t spend with his lips slanted over theirs, teasing and licking, is a second where he’s whispering their name across their skin, near reverently.

“I love you, Nanaba,” he murmurs idly in between giving them a hickey on their nape. Nanaba stretches in pleasure, like a kitten, curling up into his lap.

“I love you too,” they echo, smiling happily.

“I promised you a nice night in, didn’t I? Did I deliver or what?”

“You delivered very nicely.” Nanaba tugs him up so they can rub their noses together. “And I won’t make a bad pizza joke.”

“Thank you.”

“Now come on, hands back to the PG zone. It’s time to go big or go extinct.”

They finish half of the bottle as they watch Mako, Raleigh and the kaiju duke it out, and heave equally smitten sighs any time Idris Elba is on screen. The alcohol combined with a full stomach makes Nanaba drowsy, and they sink into Mike’s warm chest, promising him that they’ll be up in time to see the big finale.

~~~

They wake up in his bed, rubbing their eyes. Red digits on the clock blink that it’s a little after two AM. Mike has one arm draped across their hips, and their head is tucked under his chin. The flower that he’d given them earlier is crushed against his chest, giving off a faint, sweet smell, and the covers are snug all around them. Nanaba imagines Mike carefully lifting them into his arms, making sure not to jostle them or make sudden movements as he carried them to the bedroom, and smiles. He delivers every time.

They lean up to kiss his jaw, and fall back to sleep almost immediately.


End file.
